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}  THE 

I    HERMIT'S  CHRISTMAS 


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DAVID  HE  FOREST  BURRELL 


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tihvavy  of  Che  trheolo^icd  ^tminavy 

PRINCETON  •  NEW  JERSEY 


PRESENTED  BY 

The  Estate  of 
Harold  McAfee  Robinson,  D,D» 


Digitized  by  the  Internet  Arciiive 

in  2010  with  funding  from 

Princeton  Theological  Seminary  Library 


http://www.archive.org/details/hermitschristmasOOburr 


THE 
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Copyright,  1912.  by 
American  Tract  Society 


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THE 

HERMIT'S  CHRISTMAS 


OX  Christmas  Day  the  solitude 
of  the  hermit  Theodore  was 
broken  in  upon. 

The  hermit,  a  gaunt,  austere 
figure  of  a  man  in  a  long  robe  of 
goat's  hair,  stood  before  the  door 
of  his  cave  upon  the  heights,  look- 
ing out  over  the  wooded  slopes 
and  the  shining  waters  at  their 
feet,  when  the  first  intruder  made 
his  appearance.  The  sunlight 
glanced  from  his  armor  where  he 
came  out  from  the  forest  shadows 
on  a  bare  shoulder  of  the  moun- 
tain far  below.  The  gleam  caught 
the  hermit's  eye,  and,  without 
moving,  he  watched  while  the  man 
drew  nearer.  He  climbed  but 
slowly  under  the  weight  of  his  ar- 
mor.     About    his    head    a    white 


The  Hermit's  Christmas 


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cloth  was  wrapped  as  security 
against  the  hot  sun,  while  his  hel- 
met was  slung  at  his  back.  His 
.   great  sword  he  used  for  a  staff. 

At  length,  stumbling  over  the 
last  stone  in  utter  weariness,  he 
reached  the  hermit's  side  and 
threw  himself  upon  the  ground, 
calling  hoarsely  for  water,  in  the 
name  of  all  the  saints.  The  her- 
mit brought  it,  a  gourd  full,  which 
the  Crusader  drank  dry  in  great 
gulps.  He  wiped  his  face,  red 
and  shining  from  the  exertion  of 
his  climb. 

"God  bless  thee  for  that  kindly 
draft,  good  father." 

"Nay,  my  son,  'tis  but  a  small 
Christmas  gift,  since  it  cost  me 
naught  save  a  journey  to  the 
spring  below." 

The  knight  started. 

"I  had  forgot!  Christmas  Day, 
in  sooth!  and  what  a  place  to 
keep  it  in!" 

"The  place  matters  not,  my  son, 
so  that  thy  heart  be  right  for  the 
feast." 


The  Hermit's  Christmas 


> 


The  other's  eyes  twinkled  for 
a  moment. 

"And  dost  thou  feast  on  Christ- 
mas Day,  father?  Methought 
dried  peas  and,  perchance,  a  cut 
of  goat's  flesh  would  be  dainties 
fitted  to  thy  scruples." 

The  hermit  smiled. 

"Why,  so  they  are;  but  truly 
the  food  matters  little  more  than 
the  place." 

Then  the  knight  sighed  loudly. 

"Ah,  but  I  bethink  me,"  he 
said,  "of  a  great  hall  in  Merry 
England,  and  the  boar's  head  and 
the  foaming  ale  and  the  songs 
and  laughter!  I  would  I  were 
there,   across  yon  blue  sea!" 

The  hermit  smiled  again. 

"Truly,  Sir  Knight,  dried 
goat's  flesh  is  not  a  boar's  head, 
and  this  gourd  I  take  from  thee  is 
not  a  horn  of  ale;  but  this  is 
Christmas  Day,  and  thou  art  wel- 
come." 

"And  I  will  stay,  good  father, 
and  dine  wdth  thee!  but  in  truth 
I  had  meant  so  to  do,  an  the  her- 


The  Hermit's  Christinas 


T 


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; 


Q^ 


mit's  face  were  not  too  long."  He 
glanced  up,  sidelong,  at  the  her- 
mit's solemn  visage  above  him. 
"Yonder,  on  the  road  by  the  sea, 
lies  my  horse  with  a  broken  leg. 
God's  mercy  that  he  did  not  break 
my  skull  when  he  fell!  I  saw  a 
path  leading  away  through  the 
forest  toward  the  mountain,  and 
as  all  paths  on  Athos  do  now  but 
lead  to  hermits'  caves,  'twas  but  a 
short  moment  before  I  turned  my 
steps  hitherward." 

There  was  a  sound  of  feet 
clambering  up  the  rocky  way.  A 
voice  reached  them,  harsh  and  na- 
sal, uttering  loud  curses  upon 
lands  where  Christian  hospitality 
dwelt  in  caves  on  mountain-tops. 
Then  an  unkempt  head  came  into 
view,  followed  by  a  body  clothed 
in  rags  and  patches. 

The  hermit  greeted  the  new- 
comer after  the  fashion  of  the 
East:    "Peace  to  thee." 

The  man  paused  to  get  his 
breath,  and  answered,  "Thou  art 
set  on  high   indeed,   holy   father. 


The  Hermit's  Christmas 


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'Twere  more  friendly  to  set  thy 
cave  by  the  roadside  below." 

"Make  thy  complaint  to  God 
who  made  the  cave,  thou  unman- 
nerly rascal!"  the  knight  inter- 
rupted, jumping  to  his  feet.  "By 
thy  costume  thou  art  a  beggar. 
Go  thou  and  beg  of  richer  men." 

"Peace,  peace!"  said  the  her- 
mit. "All  men  are  beggars  at 
my  door — and  all  are  guests — and 
all  are  welcome." 

"Then  thou  shalt  have  a  full 
table  for  thy  Christmas  dried 
peas,  father,  for  yonder  come 
more  of  thy  guests." 

The  hermit  and  the  beggar 
looked  down  where  he  pointed. 
Up  the  steep  path  toiled  four 
men,  one  after  the  other.  The 
three  above  stood  waiting  their 
arrival.  At  length  they  came. 
The  knight  checked  them  off  in 
an  undertone  as  the  hermit  gave 
to  each  his  kindly  "Peace  to 
thee!" 

"Thou  art  a  merchant,  and 
wealthy,    by    thy    girth" — so    ran 


"V' 


The  Hermit's  Christmas 


T 


1 


f 


the  commentary — "and  thou — a 
thief,  by  thine  eyes  and  thy  near- 
ness to  Sir  Merchant.  And  thou 
— thou  art  I  know  not  what,  but 
thou  hast  broken  heart  written  on 
thy  face.  And  thou  art  a  thinker, 
by  thy  broad  brow  and  thy  slen- 
der figure." 

One  after  another  they  returned 
the  hermit's  greeting,  each  after 
his  kind.  He  whom  the  knight 
called  merchant  offered  bluntly 
to  pay  for  a  good  meal;  the  thief 
spoke  with  oily  heartiness;  the 
broken-hearted  said  never  a  word; 
and  he  of  the  broad  brow  and  the 
uncalloused  fingers  responded 
with  the  courtesy  of  one  at  home 
in  any  place. 

"A  fair  Christmas  Day,  good 
sirs,"  quoth  the  hermit  then;  "and 
all  I  have  for  your  Christmas 
feast!  Come  hither  into  the  shade 
of  the  rock  and  sit  ye  down." 

And  without  further  parley 
down  they  sat  upon  the  brown 
earth,  a  strange  company,  while 
the  hermit  brought  from  his  cave 


10 


The  Hermit's  Christmas 


a  great  dish  of  dried  meat,  and  a 
bowl  of  parched  peas,  and  lastly 
an  earthen  jar  of  water,  cool  and 
sparkling.  The  beggar  made  as 
if  to  put  his  hand  to  the  dish  of 
meat,  when  the  hermit  stayed  him. 

"An  it  please  you,"  he  said 
gravely,  "we  will  thank  the  Christ 
who  was  born  this  day." 

The  beggar  withdrew  his  hand. 
The  fat  merchant,  who  had 
thought  to  put  forth  his  own, 
withheld  it.  With  bowed  head 
they  waited  until  the  brief  prayer 
was  done,  then  set  to  as  hungry 
men,  one  and  all. 

"Tough,  but  grateful  to  an 
em^Dt}^  stomach,  is  thy  goat's 
meat,"  said  the  man  of  the  broad 
brow.  "But  tell  me.  Father  Her- 
mit, thou  didst  return  thanks  for 
dried  meat  and  peas:  dost  in  very 
truth  regard  this  mean  repast  as 
a  Christmas  feast?" 

"That  do  I!"  returned  the  her- 
mit vigorously. 

"That  do  I  not!"  said  the  other 
in    a    sneer    half    hidden    in    his 


3. 


11 


The  Hermit's  Christmas 


C 


L^ 


■^r- 


beard,  "no  more  do  these  my  fel- 
low-guests, I  warrant  you.  Tell 
me,  friend  knight,  hast  any 
thought  of  Christmas  in  thy 
mind?" 

"Nay,"  said  the  knight  frank- 
ly; "only  of  a  snow-white,  crisp 
Christmas  at  home." 

"Sir  Beggar?  Is  this  a  Christ- 
mas joy  to  thee?" 

"Nay,"  said  the  beggar  with  a 
whine;  "but  were  I  in  my  own 
town — ah,  there  beggar-folk  feast 
at  Christmas-tide  at  the  cost  of 
the  open-handed  rich!" 

"Sir  Merchant,  what  of  thee? 
Is  this  Christmas  to  thy  mind?" 

"Nay,"  said  the  merchant  be- 
tween bites,  "never  a  Christmas 
without  good  roast  capon." 

"Sir  Melancholy?  Hast  thou 
Christmas  cheer?  Nay,  we  need 
not  thine  answer.  And  thou.  Sir 
Shifty  Eyes — is  this  Christmas  to 
thee?" 

"Nay,"  said  the  last  of  all,  "I 
see  no  Christmas  joy  in  this 
shrivelled  fare." 

12 


The  Hermit's  Christmas 


3. 


"Hearest  thou,  O  Father  Her- 
mit?" cried  the  questioner  in  tri- 
umph. "And  thou  sayest  this 
brings   Christmas  joy  to  theel" 

"And  truly  so  it  does!"  an- 
swered the  hermit  quietly.  Then, 
his  eyes  sweeping  quickly  around 
the  circle,  he  spoke  more  strongly: 
"And  more,  Sir  Philosopher — for 
such  I  take  thee  to  be — I  can  tell 
each  of  you  why  he  has  no  Christ- 
mas joy  from  this  feast  of  mine." 

"Come,  then,"  said  the  philos- 
opher invitingly. 

"Thou  first,"  said  the  hermit, 
not  heeding  the  sneer  no  longer 
concealed — "thou  art  a  philoso- 
pher, is  it  not  so? — So  I  thought. 
— And  thou  hast  exchanged  faith 
for  reason,  and  by  thy  bargain 
thou  hast  lost  thy  Christ  and  thy 
Christmas.  Thou  wast  afraid  to 
believe!  God  manifest  in  the 
flesh  thou  couldst  not  understand, 
and  therefore  God  manifest  in  the 
flesh  thou  didst  cast  away." 

The  other  would  have  inter- 
rupted, but  the  hermit  raised  his 

13 


The  Hermit's  Christmas 


i 


t' 


hand  to  silence  him.  "Nay,  I 
said  not  I  would  argue  with  thee, 
but  that  I  would  show  thee  why 
thou  hast  no  Christmas  joy.  And 
I  have  shown  thee.  Thou  hast  no 
faith:  that  is  why.  Thou,  who 
dost  come  over  yonder  blue  sea 
by  faith;  who  dost  follow  a  moun- 
tain path  on  faith; — thou,  who  s^ 
dost  not  know  thyself  nor  thy 
neighbor  nor  thy  world,  but  dost 
take  all  on  faith — thou  dost  not 
believe  in  the  might  of  the  finger 
of  God!  Not  a  day  passes  but 
thou  dost  believe  the  unexplain- 
able;  yet  thou  must  explain  the 
Christ-child  before  thou  wilt  be- 
lieve on  him!  Thou  dost  not 
know  me;  thou  canst  not  explain 
one  of  these  dried  peas,  nor  the 
way  it  grew,  nor  the  sunlight  that 
dried  it;  and  yet  thou  dost  eat 
my  dried  peas  gladly!  Have  I 
hit  thee?  'Whosoever  shall  not  re- 
ceive  the  kingdom  of  heaven  as 


He  paused  for  a  moment.    The 
philosopher's  eyes  had  fallen;  his 


i 


14 


!^ 


The  Hermit's  Christmas 


sneer  was  gone ;  he  had  not  a  word 
to  say.  The  hermit  turned  to  the 
thief,  who  sat  next  in  the  circle, 
and  shot  his  next  words  at  him. 

"And  thou,  I  know  thine  ail- 
\^,^  ment,  and  why  thou  hast  no 
Christmas  joy  in  thy  feast!  Thou 
hast  stolen  money  in  thy  scrip  and 
a  bad  conscience  in  thy  breast." 

The  man  with  the  shifty  eyes 
gripped  his  wallet  tight  and 
turned  pale  under  his  tan. 

"Nay,  friend  thief,"  said  the 
hermit  more  gently,  "this  is  no 
court  of  law.  There  is  no  judge 
here  but  thy  God.  Thou  art 
afraid  to  meet  the  Christ-child 
when  thou  comest  to  judgment; 
that  is  why  thou  hast  no  joy  in 
this  Christmas-tide.  Clear  con- 
science doth  make  glad  heart.  Get 
thee  back  and  restore  what  thou 
hast  stolen!" 

His  eyes  sought  those  of  him 
of  the  melancholy  countenance, 
but  the  man  would  not  look  up. 
Nevertheless  the  hermit  addressed 
him,  knowing  that  he  heard. 


15 


The  Hermit's  Christmas 


T' 


) 


"And  thou,  Sir  Melancholy, 
methinks  I  know  thy  sorrow. 
Thou  dost  think  thyself  disillu- 
sioned. Sorrow  has  come  thy 
way,  and  loneliness.  Thy  friends 
have  proven  no  friends  at  all. 
And  because  thou  hast  lost  faith 
in  man,  thou  hast  lost  faith  in 
God,  and  thou  hast  forgotten  the  ^ 
faith  of  thy  childhood.  Thou  hast 
drunk  wormwood  and  therefore 
thou  dost  curse  God." 

The  man  had  hfted  his  head 
and  was  gazing  at  him,  his  embit- 
tered hungry  soul  in  his  eyes. 
The  hermit's  tone  softened. 

"Oh,  thou  poor  soul!"  he  said, 
"thou  hast  done  the  very  oppo-  f]) 
site  to  what  thou  shouldst  have 
done.  For  instead  of  false  friends 
thou  hast  a  Friend  divine.  Thy 
house  is  empty;  yet  thy  Friend 
but  keeps  thy  dear  ones  for  thee 
till  thou  comest.  Thou  hast 
looked  only  at  the  things  which 
are  seen;  but  lift  thine  eyes!  look 
thou  at  the  things  which  are  not 
seen,  the  eternal  things  of  God  I 


16 


l\* 


The  Hermit's  Christmas 


J 


Then  hast  thou,  even  thou,  be- 
reaved and  lonely,  joy  in  the 
Birthday  of  thy  Lord!" 

He  ceased  speaking.  Suddenly 
the  other  bowed  his  head  upon  his 
arms  and  was  shaken  by  great 
tearing  sobs.  They  sat  in  silence 
until  he  raised  his  head  and  said, 
brokenly,  and  trying  to  smile, 
"Thou  hast  wrought  a  miracle, 
father!  These  be  the  first  tears 
mine  eyes  have  known  in  many  a 
year." 

"I  guessed  as  much,"  the  her- 
mit said,  "and  tears  be  often  the 
forerunners  of  a  new  joy." 

The  Crusader  sat  next  in  the 
circle.  With  the  help  of  the  beg- 
gar he  had  undone  the  thongs  on 
his  armor  and  stripped  himself 
of  his  shining  coat  of  mail.  In 
his  woolen  shirt,  worn  and  marked 
w^ith  rust,  he  was  a  picture  of 
stalwart  strength,  with  knotted 
muscles  and  heavy  shoulders. 

"Thou,"  began  the  hermit, 
"thou.  Sir  Knight,  hast  been  to 
Jerusalem,  across  yonder  waters, 

17 


ii 


tJ 


The  Hermit's  Christmas 


to  protect  the  sepulcher  of  thy 
Lord  Christ,  whose  Birthday  this 
is.  And  thou  dost  not  know  thy 
Lord;  wherefore  thou  hast  no  joy 
in  Him." 

"Not    know   my    Lord!"    cried 
the  knight. 

"Nay,  thou  knowest  not  thy 
Lord!  By  two  things  I  know  it  ^ 
and  will  prove  it  thee.  Imprimis,  ^ 
thou  hast  slain  thy  fellow-men, 
and  hast  waded  in  their  blood,  for 
the  sake  of  thy  God.  Wherefore 
thou  knowest  not  Him;  for  the 
Christ  is  not  served  by  blood-let- 
ting, by  the  slaying  of  thy  brother- 
men.  Thou  dost  hate  the  Sara- 
cen who  dishonors  thy  Lord's 
tomb;  but  thy  Lord  has  bidden 
thee  love  the  Saracen,  and  thou 
hast  not  heard  his  voice.  Again, 
thy  Lord  Christ  would  have  thee 
kindly  and  tender  toward  all,  both 
man  and  beast;  but  thou  hast  left 
thy  good  steed,  who  has  borne 
thee  to  thy  Lord's  city  and  thus 
far  homeward — thou  hast  left  him 
lying  down  yonder  with  a  broken 

18 


:p: 


'4 


The  Hermit's  Christmas 


T 


limb  and  hast  not  put  him  out  of 
his  misery.  Wherefore,  again, 
thou  dost  not  know  thy  Lord;  not 
knowing  Him,  thou  canst  have 
none  of  his  joy  at  his  birth-feast! 
Wert  thou  Christ's  man,  as  thou 
dost  wear  Christ's  cross,  thou 
wouldst  ere  this  have  cared  for 
thy  beast!" 

At  that  the  knight  leaped  to 
his  feet. 

"By  this  cross,"  he  cried,  "but 
thou  art  a  bold  man,  Sir  Her- 
mit!" 

His  sword  was  in  his  hand. 
The  hermit  made  no  move.  The 
others  sat  watching  the  shining 
blade.  The  knight  caught  the 
hermit's  eye,  hesitated,  dropped 
his  sword  with  a  clatter,  and 
turned  and  strode  down  the  path 
out  of  sight. 

The  hermit  turned  to  the  mer- 
chant. 


) 


The  Hermit's  Christmas 

so  encased  thy  soul  in  the  fat  of 
getting  and  of  self-indulgence 
that  thou  hast  forgotten  it.  Thou 
hast  lived  for  thyself.  Thy  treas- 
ure-chest thou  hast  filled,  and 
thou  hast  wrung  thy  gold  from 
the  sweat  and  tears  of  many  a 
brother-man.  God  gave  thee  thy 
talents,  but  thou  hast  not  re- 
quited God.  Thou  art  swollen 
with  what  thou  hast  sucked  from 
God's  world.  Thy  pride  is  in 
what  thou  callest  thine  own,  and 
thy  joy  in  spending  it  for  what 
thou  callest  thyself.  Thou  know- 
est  not  the  Christ-child;  for  the 
Christ  bids  thee  give,  not  get; 
and  thou  hast  not  found  joy  in 
this  feast,  for  thou  hast  through 
it  all  thought  only  of  thyself! 
The  joy  of  Christ's  Birthday  will 
come  when  thou  forgettest  thy- 
self!" 

And  the  merchant,  when  the 
hermit  ceased  speaking,  grew  very 
red  in  the  face  and  fingered  his 
wallet  uncomfortably.  But  he 
had  not  a  word  to  say. 


\ 


The  Hermit's  Christmas 


3. 


"And  thou,  Sir  Beggar,"  went 
on  the  voice  of  the  hermit,  "thou 
hast,  like  thy  neighbor,  lived  by 
sucking  the  world  dry.  Thou 
hast  taken  from  the  world  and 
given  nothing.  God  made  thee  to 
work,  but  thou  hast  disdained  to 
work.  Thy  mind  is  rich  with  ex- 
cuses and  reasons,  but  none  is 
good:  thou  art  a  lazy  varlet  and 
a  selfish  one.  Therefore  thou 
knowest  not  the  Christ.  For  He 
was  a  carpenter,  and  his  hands 
were  hard  with  toil.  He  saved 
men,  not  lived  on  them,  yonder  in 
Nazareth.  And  none  has  right 
to  joy  on  Christmas-tide  who 
has  no  respect  for  himself  and  no 
joy  in  honest  toil.  Stretch  out 
thy  hand  to  the  plow,  not  to  ask 
an  alms!  Let  thy  brow  shine 
with  the  sweat  of  thy  work  for 
the  Christ;  then  shalt  thou  taste 
his  joy!  He  has  given  himself 
to  thee,  and  thou — thou  art  a  beg- 
gar!" 

He  was  done.  He  turned  to 
the  philosopher  with  a  quiet  smile. 


The  Hermit's  Christmas 


3. 


"Have  I  not  kept  my  word?"  he 
asked. 

The  other  nodded  slowly,  then 
lifted  his  chin  with  a  challenge: 
"In  truth  thou  hast,  good  host. 
But  I,  too,  am  a  student  of  men; 
and  I  have  a  flaw  to  pick  in  thine 
own  case." 

The  hermit's  smile  faded  from 
his  lips.  He  seemed  for  the  mo- 
ment to  draw  into  himself;  and  he 
spoke  in  a  low  voice. 

"Nay,"  he  said;  "I  said  not  I 
was  perfect;  nor  even  that  I  gath- 
ered from  this  poor  feast  all  that 
I  might  have  gained  of  joy.  It 
has  been  the  better  for  your  pres- 
ence; and  yet — I  too  confess  I 
have  known  happier  feasts." 

It  was  the  philosopher's  turn 
to  smile,  but  he  had  lost  his  sneer, 
and  he  did  not  smile. 

"Thou  hast  withdrawn  thyself. 
Sir  Hermit,"  he  said  not  ungently, 
"from  the  world  and  its  snares. 
Thou  wast  weak,  and  the  evil  in 
the  world  drew  thee,  and  thy 
conscience  troubled  thee ;  and  thou 


I 


r^: 


The  Hermit's  Christinas 


T 


3. 


ih\i\  didst  flee,  like  many  others,  to  the 

V    /->  wilderness.     Is  it  not  so?" 

He  did  not  wait  for  a  reply, 
but  leaned  forward  and  pointed 
his  words  with  a  long,  slender  fin- 
ger. "And  thou  too  hast  lost — 
not  all,  but  much,  of  the  joy  of 
this  feast  because  thou  hast  been 
a  coward !  A  coward !  Thou  wast  ^^ 
afraid!  Though  thy  Lord  fought 
through  forty  days  and  forty 
nights  of  temptation;  though  he 
did  agonize  for  thee  in  the  gar- 
den; though  he  did  show  thee  how 
to  fight  thy  soul's  battles — thou 
didst  run  away  to  the  desert! 
Thou  hadst  a  place  to  fill,  a  work 
to  do,  men  to  serve,  a  Gospel  to 
preach — and  thou  wast  afraid! 
And  thou  hast  but  a  part  of  thy 
joy  to-day  because  thou  hast  for- 
gotten that  the  Christ-child  whose 
feast  this  is  was  born  to  succor 
thee  in  thy  temptations!  Thou 
hast  no  right  to  this  feast!  Thou 
shouldst  be  at  thy  work  in  the 
world!     Thy  Christ  hath  a  work 


for  thee!' 


i/^ 


23 


The  Hermit's  Christmas 


J 


t' 


J 


L4 


A  silence  fell  upon  them.  The 
hermit  seemed  to  have  shrunk 
into  himself.  Absently  he  rolled 
a  parched  pea  between  fingers 
none  too  steady.  His  voice  trem- 
bled when  at  length  he  spoke. 

"I  stand  like  you  all,  convicted. 
We  be  but  poor  Christians  all.  I 
had  thought  to  keep  my  soul  pure 
by  fleeing  evil;  but" — and  his 
voice  grew  clear  and  strong — "I 
was  wrong.  I  shall  go  back!  I 
shall  go  back  to  serve  my  Lord 
Christ!  And  you,  brothers? 
What  of  you  all?  Will  ye  go 
back  with  me  to  serve  our  Lord 
and  our  brothers?" 

He  looked  around  the  little  cir- 
cle. None  answered  for  a  mo- 
ment; then  the  sorrowful  man 
said,  ''I  will  go."  "And  I,"  said 
the  thief;  and  the  others  nodded 
without  speaking,  all  save  the 
philosopher,  who  sat  with  head 
bent,  deep  in  some  soul  struggle. 

"Come,"  said  the  merchant 
briskly;  "an  I  can  break  my  chain, 
so  canst  thou." 


f% 


24 


The  Hermit's  Christmas 


7^ 


"Xay,  friend,"  said  the  philos- 
opher sadly;  "it  is  not  chains,  but 
the  absence  of  chains,  that  I  feel. 
Could  I  but  bind  my  soul  to  thy 
Christ — but  how  can  I?  Can  a 
man  force  his  soul  to  accept  a 
mystery  his  mind  rejects?" 

Then  spoke  the  sorrowful  man, 
with  a  new  and  more  cheerful 
tone  in  his  voice. 

"Ay,  that  he  can!  That  have 
I  done  but  now!  Truly  my  mind 
cannot  see  heaven  and  mine  own 
in  heaven;  but  I  am  weary  of 
guesswork.  I  will  believe  and 
hope.  And  thou — with  all  thy 
knowledge  thou  art  no  wiser  as  to 
God:  thy  mind  saveth  thee  not: 
trust  thou  thy  faith." 

"That  were  wisdom,"  said  the 
hermit  slowly.  "We  speak  to 
thee,  and  thou  dost  not  bid  us  ex- 
plain ourselves  before  thou  wilt 
hear:  and  the  Christ  speaketh  to 
thee  on  this  his  Day.  Wilt  thou 
argue?     Nay,  but  believe!" 

And  the  philosopher  looked  up  at 
them  again,  and  his  brow  cleared. 


25 


The  Hermit's  Christmas 


1, 


c 


J 


LJ 


"Why,  good  father,  the  world 
was  not  built  in  a  day.  I  will  be 
honest  with  thee:  I  cannot  be- 
lieve; but  I  will  pray  Christ  to 
help  me  believe.     Is  it  enough?" 

"I  am  but  a  jDoor  fool,"  spoke 
the  beggar,  "and  thou  a  philoso- 
pher, and  yet — if  thou  dost  pray 
to  Christ  thou  dost  believe  al- 
ready." 

"And  that,  again,  is  wisdom," 
quoth  the  hermit. 

So  they  sat  and  talked  while 
the  shadows  moved  'round  the 
mountain  and  the  sun  began  to 
sink  over  the  sea  to  the  west. 

"When  the  sun  goeth  down  we 
journey  into  the  world,"  the  her- 
mit said. 

Toward  twilight  the}^  heard  the 
footsteps  of  the  soldier,  and  his 
bronzed  face  appeared  at  the  head 
of  the  path.  He  halted  for  a  mo- 
ment, surveying  the  scene.  They 
were  on  their  feet,  girding  them- 
selves for  the  descent. 

"What  now?"  he  cried,  when  he 
could  get  his  breath. 


The  Hermit's  Christmas 


^^^ 


The  philosopher  spoke  for  all. 
"We  have  been  to  school,  Sir 
Knight,  as  thou  hast,  and  we  have 
learned  that  on  this  Christmas 
Day  which  takes  us  back  to  the 
world.     Wilt  come?" 

"So,"  said  the  knight,  the  old 
twinkle  in  his  eye;  "and  what  hast 
thou  learned,  O  wise  one?" 

"That  the  joy  of  the  Christmas 
feast  may  be  found  in  dried  peas 
if  faith  be  there  at  table." 

"And  thou.  Sir  Beggar?" 

"That  the  joy  of  the  Christmas 
feast  is  his  w^ho  hath  honest  sweat 
upon  his  brow." 

"And  thou,  Sir  Merchant?" 

"That  the  joy  of  the  Christmas 
feast  lieth  not  in  the  viands,  but 
in  finding  joy  for  others." 

"And  thou,  Sir  INIelancholy  ?" 

"That  there  may  be  joy  in  the 
Christmas  feast,  even  for  the  bit- 
ter in  soul,  if  they  look  not  back- 
ward, but  forward." 

"And  thou.  Sir— craving  thy 
pardon — Sir  Thief?" 

"It  was  a  good  guess,"  said  the 

27 


1 


n 


The  Hermit's  Christmas 


T 


) 


\ 


ky 


thief.  His  eyes  met  the  soldier's 
squarely.  "But  I  have  learned. 
There  is  no  Christmas  joy  with- 
out an  honest  conscience." 

"And  thou,  good  host?" 

"They  have  taught  me,  Sir 
Knight!  There  is  no  fulness  of 
joy  for  him  who  shirks  the  fight. 
We  go  together  back  to  life.  Wilt 
go?" 

The  knight  stooped  for  his  coat 
of  mail.  "An  some  friend  here 
will  harness  me,  I  will  go,  and 
gladly.  Thou  hast  taught  me,  too, 
good  father.  The  Christ  whose 
Birthday  we  keep  joyeth  not  in 
hatred,  but  in  love  and  kindliness 
to  all.  Verily,  what  a  school  thou 
keepest!  Thou  hast  shown  us  the 
soul  of  Christmas!  Master  and 
scholars,  all  for  the  world  this 
Christmas  Day!  God  give  us  joy 
of  our  journey! " 

So,  in  the  cool  of  the  evening,    E^^S^''t 
they  filed  down  from  the  hermit's    V>li)  t 
cave  to  the  road  that  led  to  the 
world ! 


,  t«A'' 


Date  Due 


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PS3503.U8H55 

The  hermit's  Christmas. 


Princeton  Theological  Seminary-Speer  Library 


1    1012  00003  1981 


